


am i making it worse?

by all_i_do_is_lose



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Book 1: Carry On, but no comfort bc theyre both disasters, did i write it anyway? you betcha, does the fandom need more relationship angst w the boys? probably not., kinda beginning of wayward son? kinda spoilers ig? if u haven't read it don't read, theyre trying their best, this is very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_i_do_is_lose/pseuds/all_i_do_is_lose
Summary: I’ve never learned how to be comforting. It’s not really something they teach you when you're bred to be the antagonist. I’ve comforted my siblings, but their sadness is different from Simon’s sadness. When my siblings are sad, it’s because they’ve skinned their knees, and all I have to do to stop their crying is shush them and maybe stroke their hair.This worked with Simon, once. The night he killed the Humdrum. The night he killed the Mage. All I had to do was hold him.—————Another "Simon Snow is lying on the sofa" fic, because they need to talk about feelings.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	am i making it worse?

Simon Snow is lying on the sofa.

Simon Snow is pretty much always lying on the sofa these days. Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.

‘Sometimes’ turns into ‘Most of the time’ really quickly when he gets like this.

I really would prefer he just told me he hates me rather than ignore me. I’d rather be his enemy again than not exist to him at all.

(I’m not sure that’s true actually. But I wish he’d say something. Even if it was that he doesn’t want me anymore.)

He’s so sad, all the time. I can’t remember the last time he had a good day. I worry I’m making it worse.

 _Am I making it worse, love?_ I think at him. _Is there something I could do to make it better? What can I do to make you better?_

 _What can I_ do?

I’ve never learned how to be comforting. It’s not really something they teach you when you're bred to be the antagonist. I’ve comforted my siblings, but their sadness is different from Simon’s sadness. When my siblings are sad, it’s because they’ve skinned their knees, and all I have to do to stop their crying is shush them and maybe stroke their hair.

This worked with Simon, once. The night he killed the Humdrum. The night he killed the Mage. All I had to do was hold him.

_It’s all right, love._

No matter how much I want to stroke Simon’s hair, I know it’s not what he wants from me.

_What can I do?_

Simon’s sadness is an all-encompassing numbness. He shuts himself in a bubble, away from the world. Distant.

I just want to know if I’m making it worse.

“Simon,” I say to him. He doesn’t look away from the television.

I sit down on the sofa’s armrest, by his feet. I take the remote and shut it off. He’s not watching anything interesting anyway.

He turns and glares at me. I don’t care if he hates me for it. I just want him to listen. I just want to find out.

“Simon,” I say again, but my hands are shaking, which is not ideal. “Am I making you happy?”

I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him. I look down at my hands in my lap. That isn’t even what I wanted to say. I’ve spent so long figuring out the right words.

He shifts, and I glance up at his eyes. He looks pained. “I know I’m not making you _happy_ ,” I try again. “Am I making you happier than you would have been? Without me here?”

He pops his knuckles. I want to give him time, I know words don’t come easily to him, but they come so easily to me, and I can’t keep them in when I’m nervous. So I keep pressing.

“Am I making you less sad?”

He meets my eyes, finally, and it’s been so long since he’s really looked at me that I can feel myself start to tear up. I don’t want to. I don’t want this to turn into some discussion about my feelings.

Luckily, Snow is decidedly unperceptive about my feelings.

“Baz,” He nearly whispers. “When someone shows you who they are…”

He looks away. He purses his lips.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the floor. “When someone shows you who they are, you should believe them.”

I wait. That can’t be all. I don’t even know what that means. Why won’t he just answer me? Words don’t come to me until his eyes meet mine again.

“What are you trying to say?”

He sighs, like I’m being purposefully dim about this. “I’m dragging you down, Baz.” His voice turns to something like anger. “Fuck, why can’t you see this? I’m not _good_ for you. I’m not good at all, for anything. I’m not even supposed to be part of your world! I’m not a hero. I’ve shown you that, who I am. I’m not a hero.”

I can’t form the right words. This isn’t something that happens to me.

I don’t know how to help other people.

_What can I do, love?_

“Am I making it worse?” I say again, stupidly, and it only seems to make him angrier.

“Baz, you’re not listening to me! Please, for once, stop _worrying_ about me. I’m making _you_ worse! Can’t you see that? I’m not making you happy. That should be enough.”

“Enough for what?” I ask, and I really am crying now. This whole situation has been very uncharacteristic of me. Then I realize it’s the wrong thing to say, because he _is_ making me happy. At least, he’s making me _whole._

He’s sitting up now, properly. Feet off the sofa and on the floor. But he’s turned to face me. “Enough for you to leave, and make yourself happy.”

“I don’t _want_ that.” I slide off the armrest, and reach my hand out on the cushion between us. I know he’s not going to take it. “I don’t want to leave, Simon.”

His brows sink when I say his name.

“Simon,” I say again. “I’m not going to be happy anywhere without you.”

He’s focused, like he’s having a separate argument in his own head, with himself. He shakes his head, resigns and lunges at me.

I think he’s going to take a swing at me, at first. But he doesn’t; he hovers over me with the furrow stuck in his brow, and I want to smooth it out with my thumb.

I do.

He looks down at my lips. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

I melt into him. The shape of his lips is so familiar. They’re soft and full and he kisses me like he’s afraid this will end if he’s not gentle enough. I’m afraid it will end, too.

When he pulls away, I almost cry out, but he stays within five centimetres of my face.

“You make me happier,” He whispers.

“I love you.” I say. I’m not worried about scaring him away anymore. I just want him to know. He’s too good for me.

He kisses me again, like he did the first time. Like the world is in flames around us and kissing is the last thing we can do before it all ends.

 _This will end in flames_ , I think. _But not yet._

_Not today._

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Who needs therapy when you can just project your feelings onto fictional characters that you care more about than yourself, right? Isn't that what writing is all about?
> 
> It is midnight and I can't sleep ever and yes I should probably edit this in the morning but also no <3
> 
> Feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated!


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